


Want

by archi



Series: By Grace, We Are Saved [30]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical, season 8 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 02:13:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archi/pseuds/archi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a guy who’d just got out of the hospital less than two weeks ago, Cas sure knew how to deliver a beating. Dean supposed Karma was taking a swing for his episode in the woods last week. And yeah, it felt like hell, but every sting and ache and bruise seemed like a badge of victory. Just one step forward, and if it got this mess between them sorted then really, it wasn’t such a bad trade off.</p><p>Dean Pov, picks up after "Need"<br/>Note: <b>This verse reads as one continuous story</b> Some sections overlap as told from different pov.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Want

**Author's Note:**

> I would just like you guys to know that while researching fighting, injuries, and proper medical procedures, I legitimately almost passed out. 
> 
> I had to actually lay down and put my feet up because it was that awful nauseous-but-not-barfy-more-like-about-to-be-sucked-into-the-vacuum-of-space-and-die sort of feeling.
> 
> The things I do for you people.

Charlie and Sam were nowhere in sight when Dean and Cas finally got off the dirty slope and trudged into the bunker. Dean made a stop to his bedroom, pulling out clothes and handing a stack to Cas, tucking another bundle under his arm.

“Shower first. Not too hot - don’t want to irritate anything. Then we’ll get you looked after. Just come to the infirmary when you’re done,” Dean said. His throat burned and he knew a good shiner when he felt one. His split lip burned and his nose might be fractured or partially crushed - he didn’t know but it hurt like hell. Cas didn’t look too bad - at least from today’s altercation - but Dean had taken the beating hard and he’d be feeling it for a while.

Cas nodded and shuffled ahead into the shower room. Dean limped past to the infirmary. There was another shower in there - not quite as nice but it would do. Hopefully Cas managed alright by himself.

The infirmary was clean, cream walls with diffusing light fixtures in a small reception area. A room to his left, portioned off by thick curtains that repeated at intervals hosted simple beds with clean sheets. To his right, the examination and operating rooms, each home to several cabinets filled with freshly re-stocked medical supplies. Ahead was the offices and living quarters for a few medical personnel. Between the heavy door to the offices and the curtain dividing reception from infirmary was another door, wide but painted the same as the walls around it. Dean pushed through the door, his footsteps echoing around a tile hallway.

He came to a much smaller shower room with just a few showerheads, and a long shelf where he put his clean clothes. He stripped down, wincing and inhaling sharply at the raw skin and sore muscles and endless bruising, tossing the sweat-stiff and bloodstained clothes into the corner.

He avoided looking at the small mirrors over the sinks on the far wall. He didn’t want to see that just yet. The water warmed quickly and he stepped under it, gritting his teeth as the cool water ran over his injuries.

His left shoulder played host to some pretty gnarly bruising, he could barely see out of one eye and any skin not covered by clothing had been made raw and riddled with cuts, scrapes and bruises. He held his hands and face under the spray, rubbing slightly and wincing as the dirt came free of raw skin.

He lowered himself to the tile floor, resting his elbows on his knees and bowed his head.

Droplets hit the back of his head and neck and he breathed deeply.. His lungs protested, but he pushed his chest in and out, stretching his stiff, bruised sides.

For a guy who’d just got out of the hospital less than two weeks ago, Cas sure knew how to deliver a beating. Dean supposed Karma was taking a swing for his episode in the woods last week. And yeah, it felt like hell, but every sting and ache and bruise seemed like a badge of victory. Just one step forward, and if it got this mess between them sorted then really, it wasn’t such a bad trade off.

He’d mend soon enough.

The water was cold, but he didn’t want to move. It wasn’t until he was shivering that he pushed himself off of the ground, biting back a shaking groan, and turned the water off. The towels in the infirmary were a little less plush than the others, but they weren’t anywhere near as bad as hotel towels, and he patted himself down, trying not to rub the fibers against his injuries. the white towel came away with small red stains where his cuts were still bleeding and under his nose.

Once dressed, he took a small cart to one of the examination rooms and opened the cabinets. Sam had gone all out when re-stocking, insisting that they had no excuse to use whisky and dental floss anymore when they had a whole infirmary at their disposal. So Dean pulled out gauze, antibiotic ointment, skin adhesives, a curved needle and thread, instant ice packs adhesive bandages, vaseline and supplies for a tetanus shot. He didn’t know what kind of medical history they’d invented for Cas and he wanted to cover the basics.

But, first things first. He opened a cupboard and pulled out a small, retractable magnifying mirror out. He looked closely at the swelling around his left eye and nose and gingerly touched the area. It was his skin was swollen and bruised and he winced, pushing hard enough against it to put pressure on the bone. It hurt badly, but as he continued around it felt basically intact. He’d probably just fractured it.

His nose was still bleeding, and he rolled up little gauze bits and stuck them up his nostrils gingerly, just enough to keep the blood from dripping onto his fresh shirt. His lip was split, but not too deep so he soaked up the excess blood in gauze and ran petroleum jelly over it. 

His knuckles were a little raw, but nothing compared to his face which had taken the brunt of the fight. 

Besides a black eye and a half, one side of his jaw was already raging purple, creeping up to his cheekbones. A cluster of small angry nicks sat on his other cheek where it had been scraped up by the loose gravel at the edge of the asphalt drive. However there were other cuts, mostly above his cheekbone and scattered around and through his eyebrow, that were deeper, some still bleeding.

He sewed up the more severe ones, trying to keep his face still as he stitched the edges flush. It was easy enough to ignore the prick and pull of a needle through skin when the rest of your skin alternated between bruising and scrapes. He put antibiotic cream on the others shallow cuts and adhesive strips perpendicular over the ones that weren’t big enough to need stitches but still gaped a little, and turned to look at the other side of his face.

Below the larger of the black eyes - where Cas had hit him repeatedly, the skin was raw and broken, large but shallow scrapes still seeping blood.He dabbed at them gingerly, waiting for the red to stop blooming over pink flesh, then carefully applied antibiotic ointment.

He was just to break an ice pack or three when he heard the metallic scrape of curtain hooks along a rod.

“Cas?” he called, voice breaking as he remembered the bruising on his throat.

“I’m here.”

Dean leaned out of the doorway to find Cas, his hand holding back the curtain to the row of identical beds, but looking back to Dean’s voice.

“Why don’t you come in here,” Dean said, a little more gruffly than normal. He stepped back in and reached up to his nose, pulling out the gauze and checking it. the flow seemed to have stopped - or maybe the rest congealed in his nose...he wasn’t going to poke around and find out yet.

Cas appeared in the doorway, hesitant and weary looking.

Dean patted the edge of the examination table, “Take a seat.” He turned back to the cart, throwing the bloody gauze in a trash can and re-arranging the supplies neatly before turning to Cas.

Dean realized he hadn’t given Cas socks when he saw the bare feet dangling over the edge of the table.

He looked Cas up the rest of the way, taking him in, really for the first time since he’d reappeared so abruptly into Dean’s life.

Dean’s clothes fit him fine, but he looked...so odd.

“You look different without the trench.”

“It was an overcoat, technically,” Cas said, quietly. “I still have it, back at the motel. Though it didn’t fare very well. I’ll have to use another.”

“Maybe it’s time, you know?” Dean ducked a little, catching Cas’s gaze and straightening back up. 

Cas’ face didn’t look bad. Some bruising under his eye but not much in the way of swelling. he had a bloody nose, and Dean noticed Cas holding his dirty shirt, red spots dotting where he’d obviously used it to blot away blood

“Time for what?”

“Does your nose hurt at all?”

Cas shook his head, “It’s sore, but not broken. Time for what?”

“A start over,” Dean said, looking at Cas’ split lip, not meeting Cas’ eye before he turned for the vaseline. He dipped a finger in and then slowly brought it to Cas’ lip, eyes darting up quickly for permission. Cas held still and let him spread the jelly over the raw lip.

Dean finished, wiping his finger off on gauze and setting the vaseline aside. Cas nodded, perhaps in response to Dean’s statement but he couldn't be sure.

“I’ll keep it out in the kitchen or something. Keep it on your lip or it will go dry and split again - hurt’s like a bitch. Try not to lick.”

He rolled up little pieces of gauze and handed them to Cas. 

“if you’re nose isn’t broken you can just stick these up there until it stops bleeding. Looks like it’s slowing down anyway.” Cas nodded again and did as he was told.

Dean picked up the antibiotic cream and looked over Cas’ cheekbones. Dean had only hit him a few times, never broken skin and Cas hadn’t hit the ground with his face at any point so there wasn’t anything to stitch and only a small patch of skin on the crest of Cas’ cheekbone that needed cream. He dabbed it on, and Cas jerked slightly at the cold.

“Sorry,” Dean said softly.

“It’s fine.”

Dean stood back, searching Cas’ face for anything that needed treatment.

“I think...my hands,” Cas’ voice was hesitant and he glanced down.

“Oh, right,” Dean shook his head slightly.

He held his hand out and Cas slowly put both of his forward slowly.

“Dean, I can -”

“Please, Cas,” Dean whispered. And maybe he was begging - but he didn’t care. He just wanted to take care of this stupid, prideful bastard and he wanted Cas to let him. He wanted to look over the injuries he’d cause and the ones he hadn’t caused.

He wanted to know where Cas was hurt - not because he could do a whole lot about it, but just to know.

Cas sighed and nodded, holding his hands out for Dean’s inspection.

The palms were red and dotted with punctures - probably from when he’d caught his fall by his hands, the backs bruised and raw from punching - mostly on his right hand but some on his left knuckles. His right arm was bruised along the side from using it to pound Dean’s shoulder. But all of the scrapes looked well cleaned, so he dabbed ointment on the knuckles and palm of Cas’ left hand, then tapped it gently.

Cas let it fall into his lap.

He watched silently while Dean worked over the knuckles of his right hand, dabbing at blood, prodding carefully at the swelling and making sure nothing was broken before treating it same as the left. He used a couple of strips over a split to keep it shut and then turned Cas’ wrist over to inspect the swelling on his wrist.

“Does that feel ok?”

“Just bruising.”

Apparently Cas’ staring thing was going to be a human thing too. He felt the gaze and hesitated to look up, slightly relieved when he saw that Cas was looking slightly to Dean’s left.

“Did you get a tetanus shot in the hospital?”

“I...I don’t know.”

Dean didn’t want to take chances, but he also didn’t want to put Cas through an unnecessary vaccination. “It would have been in the muscle tissue of your upper arm - real sore for a few days?”

“Yes, I believe I did, then,” his voice sounded distant and Dean watched his expression.

Cas’ brows were pulled together and his mouth had parted. Dean turned over his left shoulder to see what Cas was looking at, but stopped himself, groaning, when his neck and shoulder muscles screamed at the movement.

When he looked back, Cas was wide eyed, looking overwhelmed.

Dean didn’t know what that look had been about. He kept watching Cas, whose gaze flickered over Dean’s features, his breath coming a little short.

“Why would you let me do this to you?” he asked.

Dean’s stomach twisted, but he kept his voice light, “What do you mean?”

The confusion fell from Cas’ face into impatience, “You’re a good actor, Dean, but I know you were holding back.”

Dean cleared his throat carefully and turned his back to Cas.

“Why would you hold back?” Cas asked, more firmly.

Dean looked away, shrugging one shoulder. “You needed to get that shit out, man. If that means roughing me up a bit, so be it.”

Cas didn’t respond, so Dean turned his back, putting the unused supplies back in the cabinets and pushing the mirror he’d used earlier back into a cupboard. He was just tying up the plastic garbage liner with the bloody gauze in it when Cas spoke again. It was labored, like every word cost him greatly to form.

“Why do you care so much?”

Dean let go of the bag. There was a padded stool in the corner and he reached for it, sliding it under him as he sat in front of Cas.

He rested his elbows on his knees, ignoring the protest of scraped skin beneath the denim. Cas was watching him with great focus, as if the answer Dean provided would make everything clear - and not just the fight, but everything. Maybe it would. Maybe it _could_.

Dean adjusted and looked down at Cas’ feet. His angular human feet that had long toes with just a little dark hair on them. It struck him that Cas was human - not just an angel running on low batteries, but actually _human_.

He looked up at Cas, meeting the question with resolve.

“Listen to me, just… _listen_ , Cas because I’m going to say this one more time,” Cas’ head tilted slightly, questioning falling to confusion, and Dean continued, “I don’t need your help, I don’t need your mojo...I know I can’t relate to losing anything like you did - I dunno what that feels like, but you’re sitting right here and I don’t see anything missing that I’ll seriously miss. Everything...everything that _matters_ is still here.”

Cas’ throat worked over his next words for a few moments before they came out, “What do you want?”

Dean gave out breathy laugh, almost relieved. The same question Cas had asked hours ago, only this time, Dean knew Cas was listening, would hear him. 

“I want _you_. I want you to stick around. I want you to commit to this family - to _me_. I want us to stop hurting each other...”

Cas looked away and Dean put a hand on his knee, gentle and reassuring, until Cas looked back.

“I hadn’t forgiven you when we took off for Lawrence, you know that. You left me with a truckload of baggage to sort through on my own and all I could think was that I was never going to be enough for you. Never enough for you to stick around.” Cas looked pained and maybe like he wanted to say something, but Dean continued, “You know me. I’m not into people sacrificing themselves for me,” he said dryly, then, making sure he had Cas’ gaze, said, “I want to be enough for you to _stay_ for. Can’t I want you like that? Just you?”

“Dean...” Cas looked grief stricken, like he wanted to correct him but Dean shook his head and persisted.

“Look man, I’m not so doused in self-hatred that I can’t see you care about me. And I know you care a lot - because me and you - we don’t have lukewarm feelings about anything...Is it so hard to act like like it? Follow through in a way that can I understand?...I’m being open here. Is it so hard to just-?”

He bit the corner of his lip that wasn’t split, dropped his hand from Cas’ knee, and pushed his palms together, “...I dunno how much Sam and Charlie told you about the last week and a half, but it wasn’t pretty on my side. I managed not to take it out on any _one_ but that don’t mean there weren’t some casualties.”

“...I saw the forest, Dean.”

Dean looked up into Cas’ apologetic expression. “Oh...”

Cas’ mouth opened, hesitated, then continued, “I’m sorry to have caused you so much grief that you saw no other outlet.” It was a stiff sentence, but Cas’ voice was soft and earnest.

Dean sighed, “...Cas, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was still pissed at you from before - hell, I still couldn’t _look_ at you the day we left for Lawrence, then...right before you go fly off to Bunker Hill - you kissed me...that...that _meant_ something to me, Cas.” He looked up again, searching.

Cas was shaking slightly, and Dean’s chest tightened. He couldn’t do this - Cas was open, he was listening, but he was at capacity. Dean couldn’t put anything else on him, couldn’t ask any more right now.

He put his palms on Cas’ shins, trying to reassure him, trying to calm the shaking without making Cas feel trapped, like he couldn’t pull away. Cas’ fingers twitched in his lap and eyes blinked, looking from Dean to the cabinets and around the room.

Dean’s heart felt like it was being crushed in a giant fist. And he was alone, so alone. His head dropped, the pain ripped through his shoulder and the first of hot tears pushed out of his eyes. The hope he’d gathered drained away and he felt himself rock with the effort of trying not to cry. 

He was going to be stronger, going to show Cas that he _could_ put his faith in Dean. He was going to be _enough_.

The first of the desperate, cracked noises came from his mouth and Cas’ legs jerked under his hands. He was about to shake his head, about to pull his hands back and leave the room and go fall apart somewhere else when shaking fingers touched down feather-light in his hair.

They were hesitant, at first, weaving carefully between strands. Dean gasped and pressed his palms flat on Cas’ legs and let his forehead fall against the back of his hand, pushing Cas’ leg into the stand of the table.

His face screwed up painfully, as much as the swelling would allow, a series of raw noises ripping from his throat. He felt the pull of his stitches and a sharp twinge on his lip but he couldn’t seem to stop.

Cas’ shaking fingers soothed over his scalp, from his hairline at the front, fingers spreading and running off the sides like water. They still shook, still trembled against the shell of his ear and he still heard Cas’ breath, equally unsteady, but it was rhythmic and measured and after several minutes he was able to push out a steady breath himself. Then another, and another.

Even as Dean stilled, his shoulders and hands relaxing tentatively, Cas kept his fingers going. Dean focused on the gentle pressure, the finger pads that cut rivulets through his hair, almost tender as the pushed the tension away. It drained from him, from the top of his head down over his shoulders, rolling off his back, down his arms, dripping off his elbows and pooling somewhere far below, far away from him. A strange lightness caressed the edges of his aching body.

Dean pulled away just enough to look up, his hands slipping down the front of Cas’ shins. The base of his palms touched lightly on Cas’ chilled feet before falling into his lap.

Cas’ fingers ghosted on the edge of Dean’s hairline, and Dean thought he could see some of the same lightness beginning to work on him as well. Cas was still, almost calm, except the very slight movement of his fingers. His breath was even and he looked over Dean’s face, fingers following the gaze as they traced perimeters around cuts and bruises, not grief-stricken nor guilty, just _looking_.

Something like understanding crept into his face. His hands fell away and Dean swallowed a protest as they went, focusing on Cas’ expression.

Cas’ lips parted, and his brows pulled together slightly as his head tilted just so. He inhaled deeply, releasing so silently that if Dean hadn’t seen the fabric of his shirt adjust over his chest, he might have thought Cas was holding his breath.

“Thank you, Dean.”

Dean’s lips twitched into something that might have been a smile if he hadn’t been so spent, and Cas lips rejoined contentedly.

Dean pushed himself back, put the stool back in the corner and got a few instant ice packs out, breaking one and handing it to Cas. Then he stepped outside the door, looking back. Cas scooted stiffly off the table and followed him out. They padded down the hallways bare footed, and Cas leaned tiredly on the door as he turned the knob to the bedroom he’d occupied, before all this.

Dean watched until the door was shut, then went to his own room, closed the door, wondered fleetingly where Sam and Charlie had got do but decided not to bother with it. He lay down gingerly under his covers and switched off the light before settling in.

The dark of the room was a blessing and he finally broke the ice packs he’d brought, setting one against his bruised eye and the other cradled between his neck and shoulder.

It wasn’t solved yet, but it would be.


End file.
